Consortium of the Immortals
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Roarke hosts an impromptu gripefest by a wild assortment of characters. Follows 'Home Comes the Heart'.


**A/N:** _I just couldn't resist this idea when it first popped into my head several months ago, so when its turn in the storyline finally came up, I attacked it with absolute glee. Here's the result; I hope you get a kick out of it. Thanks as always to Harry2 and Terry L. Gardner, and a special thanks to jtbwriter for the wonderful reviews!_

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§ § § -- February 4, 1997 

Roarke completed adding the final column of figures and exhaled with relief, closing the ledger and pushing it away with uncharacteristic impatience. One less item on his list of things to do…and, he thought, glancing at the pile of mail that had arrived that morning, at least a hundred more to go. He caught himself up short, amazed at his own mood. For some reason his usual serenity was in short supply today. Maybe it was the heat. It had become unusually hot this week, even for this latitude; and he had somehow neglected to dress for the weather, perhaps because his mind had been full of all the things that waited to be done. He shook his head and stood up, intending to change his clothes and give himself the afternoon off. As soon as Leslie got back from the administrative errands he'd asked her to do, he would do the same for her. They needed a break, and it was just too hot to work. The usual cooling breeze was conspicuously absent today.

But he had no more than crossed the room to the stairs when the foyer door flew open and an older woman, seemingly sixtyish, struggled in, dragging a thin, sharp-faced younger man along with her. Roarke paused to stare; it looked as if she had the guy in a headlock. He frowned and looked harder, wondering if he could believe his eyes.

The woman stopped in the middle of the foyer, met his gaze and brightened. "Roarke! It's been so long! How good to see you—I'm so glad we caught you at home! I do hope you don't mind if we drop in unexpectedly…"

Roarke, who had been in the act of removing his suit jacket, realized he was standing there with it half on and half off, and began to shrug it back on. "It _has_ been quite some time," he agreed. "Believe me, this is an extremely unexpected event. All the more so since you've brought your son with you this time."

The thin man took advantage of his mother's distraction and squirmed out of her overwhelming grip, taking a couple of hasty jumping steps away from her. "Well, I didn't see the need for her draggin' me along," he observed, "but I'm startin' to rethink my position. This place is _roastin'_, Roarke!"

"That's _Mister_ Roarke to you, young man," his mother snapped. "Don't you forget it!"

Roarke shook his head. "Believe me, it doesn't matter," he said, reluctantly buttoning the suit jacket. The woman noticed and groaned.

"Good grief, Roarke, take that thing off. Jack's right, it's positively unbearable, and I'm sure you're ready to melt in it." She squinted at him. "For that matter, why on earth are you dressed so formally in the first place? I've told you for ages, we're just folks. You don't have to stand on ceremony."

Roarke smiled and obliged without argument; but she grinned. "Don't give me that _oh, all right, madam_ look. I see the relief in your eyes. Goodness, do you suppose we could prevail on your cook for some refreshments? It's a perfect day for cold drinks. Lemonade and iced tea…and perhaps a little chilled punch. Or better yet, your cook's sangria…with a few special ingredients, of course." She winked at him.

Roarke laughed, folding the jacket over his arm. "I'll ask about it…and in the meantime, suppose you make yourselves at home on the terrace? I'll be out to join you shortly."

"Not too shortly," the woman scolded, like a doting grandmother. "You go and put on something that won't give you heatstroke just sitting around, before you come out and join us." Something in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she spun on one foot to aim a fiery glare out the open French shutters at her son, who had already gone out to the flagstone terrace. "Jack! Leave those flowers alone. They don't need trimming!"

"Oh, c'mon, Ma, they're wiltin' in this heat," he protested.

She groaned. "I apologize…let me go and handle him while you speak with your cook and then change. Truly, ever since the divorce, that boy's become simply impossible." She stalked across the study while Roarke, spirits much lighter now, made a quick trip to the kitchen and spoke with Mariki before going up to change clothes.

A few minutes later, when he came back, he noticed several wilted flowers lying on the flagstones, most with curled and blackened edges, and the woman in the midst of scolding her son again. "…I told you, the flowers don't need any of that! See what you've done now!…Oh, Roarke!" The woman got flustered when she saw him emerging from inside the house. "I do apologize…again." The last word was a growl in her son's direction.

Roarke cleared his throat. "That's quite all right…they'll bloom again in no time." He regarded mother and son, who both looked highly antagonistic; the son belatedly noticed Roarke studying him and guiltily dropped another plucked blossom onto the ground. "So, what brings you two all the way to Fantasy Island? It must be momentous, to warrant such a long journey." He settled into one of eight chairs ringing a large round table.

"I'll say. She wants to foist me off on Pops again," the son complained, kicking at one of the fallen blooms. "But it's still his busy season."

"He can use your help," his mother argued. "February's always the worst month of winter, and the only relief anyone gets from Manny's wrath is all those lovely artistic windows you paint. As I said, Roarke, ever since Manny and I were divorced, Jack's been under my feet, pestering me to give him a job so he doesn't have to work with his father. But as you can see, he takes far more after his father than he does me."

"She just doesn't want me around, that's all," the son said plaintively. "I can't stand workin' with Pops anymore. The older he gets, the meaner he gets. I mean, seriously, Mr. Roarke, you seen him lately? He's cranky, chronically short-tempered, and bossy to the point where I just wanna freeze off the tips of his ears." He sighed heavily and more or less fell into another chair. "Problem is, he usually freezes mine first." Roarke raised his eyebrows and carefully stifled a smile.

"You really do need to learn to get along with each other," his mother lectured, earning an exaggerated eye roll and loud groan from her son.

"Ma, it's impossible!" he protested loudly.

"I have to agree with you there," remarked a deep, cheerful voice, and they all turned to see who the newcomer was. It was a tall, rotund elderly man clad in a colorful Hawaiian shirt, red shorts and large flip-flops; his beard reached the third button of the shirt. "Pardon the interruption, but I hope you don't mind if I join the party."

"Not at all, Mr. Claus," Roarke said warmly. "Please do have a seat, and help yourself to a cold drink."

"Why, thank you ever so much, Mr. Roarke." Santa Claus took a chair and poured some lemonade into a tumbler. "Mother Nature, it's been far too long; and little Jackie Frost. You've certainly grown. How have you been, all of you?"

"Fine," said Mother Nature, and from Jack, a surly "Could be better." Roarke only smiled, half filling a glass with sangria.

Just then Leslie appeared in the doorway, attention occupied by some sheets of paper she was shuffling through. "Well, Father, I finally made it back, no thanks to—" She looked up at exactly that moment and stared at the gathering around the table; her blue eyes popped when they lit on the latest arrival. "Santa Claus?"

"Why hello, Leslie," Santa boomed. "Just look at you. Mr. Roarke, what did your cook feed this girl—or did you do it? She's a lovely young lady."

Roarke smiled dismissively. "You're very kind, Mr. Claus."

"Where's Mrs. Claus?" Leslie asked curiously.

The rest of Santa's face reddened to match his cheeks and nose. "Ah, well…" He cast Roarke a fleeting glance. "Actually, ever since I brought home that sweet young thing back in 1981, she…uh, well, she's been boycotting Fantasy Island." He turned even redder and shot Roarke another glance, this one apologetic. "The principle of the thing, you know." Leslie snickered loudly; Roarke rolled his eyes, trying to hide his unaccustomed embarrassment, but not fully succeeding.

"That's a shame," Leslie remarked, a little too sweetly, leaning against the doorway. "I always did wonder what happened to Father's little present."

"Couldn't hack it," Santa confessed regretfully. "She just never acclimated. I guess I should've known when she caught not just a mere cold, but double pneumonia within the first two days of our getting back to the North Pole. That fur coat you gave her just wasn't enough protection, I'm afraid, Mr. Roarke. The missus wouldn't hear of adopting her, and then she got homesick, and the two of them never quite got along…" He sighed. "The missus kept the fur, by the way. After your gift left in a huff and forgot it, the missus said it was only fair payment for putting up with her." He shrugged, and Roarke cleared his throat again, taking a long draft of his sangria. Leslie grinned.

"I see. Well, give me a chance to change my clothes, and I'll join you." She noticed Roarke's faintly disgruntled expression and relented, coming onto the terrace and bestowing a quick kiss on his cheek. "Nobody's perfect, Father. Incidentally, I got all those errands done, finally—even though the pineapple plantation gave me a hard time about not taking the usual quota of fruit last weekend. Geez, how were we supposed to know that pineapple convention was going to bring their own?"

Roarke put down his glass and focused fully on her. "How much of a hard time did they give you, precisely?"

She shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle. I told them to take it up with the CEOs of the pineapple companies, and I even offered phone numbers. Presumably the long-distance lines between here and Oahu are on fire by now."

"Well enough," said Roarke through a sigh. "It's out of our hands now, at least. Go ahead and leave those papers on the desk, and come out and join us. You and I will have the rest of the afternoon off, especially since we have guests."

"Oh, that's fabulous," Leslie said, brightening. "Thanks, Father. Be right back." She vanished into the house again, and Jack Frost watched her go.

"Nice kid," he remarked. "Not bad-looking either, for a mortal."

"You leave her alone," Santa warned genially. "She's got a beau. Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö, no less. She wouldn't be interested in the likes of you."

Jack shrugged. "Figures. Well, d'ya happen to know where Mr. Roarke's present to you went after she left the North Pole?"

"Jack," Mother Nature growled warningly. He sighed deeply and got up, strolling the perimeter of the patio, while she turned to Roarke and Santa. "Really, I think he takes far too much after his father, particularly in temperament. You wouldn't believe how hard he is to control nowadays."

"Disciplinary problems, eh?" Santa said, tipping back his lemonade glass.

"And how," snorted Mother Nature.

Santa gulped the last mouthful of lemonade and let out a satisfied "aaaahh" in its wake. "Simply delicious. Your cook is as talented as ever, Mr. Roarke." He poured another glass while addressing Mother Nature. "Frankly, I've been meaning to speak with your ex-husband. I'm beginning to think Old Man Winter is overdue for retirement."

"But for heaven's sake, who would take over for him?" Mother Nature asked with exasperation. "I can't do it. My seasons are spring, summer and fall, and Manny gets winter. It was all laid out in the divorce decree. Jack was supposed to be his right-hand man, but all he seems inclined to do these days is surprise everyone north of the thirty-fifth parallel with late freezes every April or May…" Her attention was distracted by another falling flower and she lost her temper completely, bellowing, "Jack Frost, I don't want to have to tell you again to stop icing over those poor flowers! They don't need your brand of deadheading!"

"Aw, for cryin' out loud, Ma, there's nothin' else to do around here," Jack whined.

Leslie came out then, barefoot and clad in a light-green sundress. "Sure there is," she said. "You don't have to hang around here if you don't feel like it, you know."

"You gotta be kiddin'," Jack said, staring incredulously at her. "Everywhere I go, I leave frost all over everything. My own mother's been on my case for the last half hour because I been tryin' to put some of these poor wilted flowers outta their misery. If I go roamin' around your dad's island, who knows what damage Ma'll make me fix."

Leslie grinned. "Don't worry about the flowers," she advised. "We already have a gardener anyway." She surveyed the table. "Oh, good, Mariki made sangria!" She took a chair and filled a glass with her favorite beverage. Roarke chuckled and refilled his own glass.

"Be careful," Mother Nature said solicitously to Leslie. "I asked for a few extra special ingredients, if you know what I mean."

Leslie, swallowing her first gulp, half gasped, half choked and set the glass on the table a little too hard. She coughed, blinked rapidly and took a few experimental breaths. "Dare I ask exactly what those 'special ingredients' are?" she asked cautiously. Everyone laughed, even Jack, who filled a glass for himself.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone come?" inquired a new voice, this one female. Everyone's attention swung to the French shutters again; this time they framed a willowy, ethereal-looking blonde, clad in a floaty white shift and gauzy slippers, with a pair of iridescent wings mounted on her back and draped with her long shining hair. She was no more than three feet tall at the most, and as they took in the disgruntled look on her face, she stalked onto the patio and launched herself off the ground far enough to get a look at the contents of the tabletop, her wings beating rapidly to keep her in the air. Leslie found herself basking in the gentle breeze they created. "Looks like there's plenty of drink to go around," the new arrival remarked.

"Indeed so," Roarke said. "Welcome, and make yourself comfortable."

"Afternoon, Tooth Fairy," Jack Frost said casually.

"Hello, dearie," Mother Nature added with a smile. "How's business lately?"

The Tooth Fairy rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't even get me started," she griped, helping herself to some iced tea. "Do you know how much one lousy tooth _costs_ these days?" She drained nearly half her glass while Santa and Roarke both tried to hide their smiles and Leslie watched her in fascination. "The inflation is terrible, but that's not the worst part. I'm telling you, kids nowadays are spoiled positively stinking rotten." Still hovering effortlessly in mid-air, she turned to Leslie and pointed at her. "I remember you. Your most expensive tooth was fifty cents, back in 1977, I think it was. When did you lose your last one?" At Leslie's surprised expression, she said, "Sorry, my brain's fried. I need a vacation like you wouldn't believe. So when was it?"

"I didn't lose my last tooth till 1979," said Leslie. "In fact, Father couldn't convince me that you really were going to come pick it up. I was fourteen at the time and not too inclined to believe anymore." She offered a weak, sheepish smile.

"Bah," the Tooth Fairy scoffed. "You of all people should've known better, Leslie Hamilton, considering where you live and whose kid you are." She cast Roarke a censoring look. "You ever make a believer out of her, Roarke?"

"I hardly need do that," Roarke remarked in amusement, "since you yourself are doing a commendable job of it."

The Tooth Fairy pondered that for a moment or two and nodded thoughtfully. "You have a point there. Well, anyway, Leslie, how much did I pay you for that last tooth?"

"A measly quarter," Leslie said, eyeing her suspiciously. "What happened, a recession or something? Or are some teeth worth less than others?"

"Well, you can charge a little more for the molars, because they're bigger, and front teeth get a pretty good price. But eyeteeth are cheap. Everything's on a sliding scale because no two sets of teeth are exactly alike, and teeth come in every size and shape. And you know something? Some kids have the biggest heads. I can't tell you what a pain in the tush it is to sneak into some kid's house, make him move his head without waking him up, and then rummage around under his pillow—all without knowing what I'm gonna find, mind you. I mean, at least you wrapped your teeth in tissues. Some kids go so far as to use ring boxes and the like. But if you only knew how many bare-naked teeth I fish out from under pillows! And some of them aren't even cleaned off!" The Tooth Fairy made a revolted face and gave Roarke a pleading look. "Do you think you could find some whiskey, Roarke? I really need to tie one on, and this iced tea just isn't cutting it."

Roarke raised an eyebrow at her. "We are both aware of your track record in the last decade, my dear Tooth Fairy…need I remind you of that?" She propped a fist on one hip and glared at him, and he shook his head. "If you really must drink, you might try the sangria."

"You'll like it, dearie, trust me," Mother Nature assured her.

"You had it doctored? Oh, Mother Nature, you're a lifesaver," the Tooth Fairy squealed happily and finished off her iced tea, promptly refilling her glass with sangria. Leslie sighed and chuckled resignedly.

"I think I'd better put in a request for more," she said. "It seems to be very popular." Roarke laughed and nodded; she got up and went off to the kitchen.

"Chin up, Tooth Fairy," Santa suggested. "I know inflation's a real worry—I have the same problem. But we can always be sure of having jobs. Children will always be losing teeth, and children will always want toys for Christmas."

"And children will always be spoiled," muttered the Tooth Fairy.

"What happened to turn you into a cynic?" Jack Frost asked with interest. "Whatever it was, I like it. You used to be the worst Pollyanna I ever knew."

"Stick it in your ear, Frosty," the Tooth Fairy snarled and gulped half her sangria in one shot. "I know you, you troublemaker." She looked at Mother Nature. "You'd have a massive coronary if I told you half the things your beloved son does in his off-season. Last time I saw Princess Nyah, forty of her kids had come down with colds, and she insisted it was all his fault."

"They were up all night, too," someone else put in. This time the newcomer was dressed in a shimmering black jumpsuit and carried a large sack, from the bottom of which spilled a few glittering golden flakes every now and then. "Believe me, Tooth Fairy, I know what you mean about kids being spoiled to death. Not only do they charge a fortune for their lost teeth, but they stay up _waaaaaaay_ too late."

"Hello, Sandman," everyone chorused, just in time for Leslie to hear as she stepped out the door with two large pitchers of sangria. She stopped and stared with new interest at their latest guest.

"As in that old song?" she asked, impressed, setting the pitchers onto the table. "You know, 'Mister Sandman, bring me a dream'…?"

The Sandman grimaced. "I'm so sick of that song, if I ever hear it again I'm gonna strangle the person who's singing it." Leslie's eyes widened with alarm and she danced back a few steps, surprising him.

"I would ask you not to be quite so hard on my daughter," Roarke said mildly. "After all, she's never met you before."

"Oh, pardon me," said the Sandman and tipped his stocking cap at Leslie. "Okay, I'll cut you some slack this time, but consider yourself warned."

"Point taken," said Leslie and resumed her chair, but eyed him warily.

He smiled apologetically and took in the entire group, greeting each in turn before focusing on the Tooth Fairy. "I don't envy you your job, not one bit."

"I'm sure," she sniped, screwing up her face at him and belting down a fresh glass of sangria. What with her small stature, she was already getting tipsy, hanging in the air at an alarming thirty-degree angle. "You said kids stay up much too late, and I have to agree with that. I'm stuck canvassing houses at the most godawful hours. Use'ta be able to get done by four in the morning…now I can't even start till after midnight, and the sun's coming up before I get home. Sometimes I so hate this job."

"Parents are too permissive," the Sandman announced. "You, Saint Nick, I bet you've found any number of little monsters sitting up watching you load up their stockings because they went to bed at some ridiculous hour and never got a chance to get to sleep before you dropped down the chimney."

"I have a feeling we may have to renegotiate that contract we worked out a couple of centuries back," Santa said a touch ominously. "You can't put all the blame on the parents, Sandy, and I'm sure you know that."

"Sure I can," the Sandman retorted. "I know, I know, I'm supposed to get there before you and knock out the rug rats, but when parents just shrug and let the brats sit up till three A.M. waiting for you to show up…"

"What, exactly, prevents you from putting them to sleep where they sit?" asked Roarke with genuine curiosity.

The Sandman heaved a great sigh. "Remind me to ask you to help me renegotiate the archaic rules I have to work under. I have to crawl into the kid's bedroom before I can sprinkle my sand, and the parents absolutely cannot be in the room with them. If they are, it just skews the whole thing. After all, adults don't believe in us, remember?"

Roarke nodded sagely. "And, of course, that's the entire problem," he observed to the group at large, "and indeed the very reason for this gathering."

"Where do grownups get off thinking we don't exist? How come they're willing to suspend belief as kids, and then they change their minds later?" Jack Frost asked. He eyed Leslie as he spoke, and everyone else turned to her. She stared blankly at them all, going red in the face.

Roarke leaned forward in his chair. "Surely you're not accusing Leslie of ceasing to believe," he said. His tone was polite enough but carried a chilly undertone. "After all, to paraphrase the Tooth Fairy, consider where she lives and, uh, whose kid she is."

"Yeah, come on, guys, give me a break," Leslie pleaded feebly.

A woman's voice from behind her said suspiciously, "That all depends on whether you deserve one." This time the gathered personages beheld a tall, regal-looking woman, dark-haired and clad in a long glittering golden gown, carrying something that looked like a scepter with a small glowing blue-white knob on the top. There was a sparkly gold tiara in her hair and she wore a gold charm bracelet from which dangled several large charms: a four-leaf clover, a horseshoe, a rabbit's foot, and a large number seven, among others. "Hello, Mr. Roarke. I hope I'm not crashing the party, but I had to take a break from the casino. Everyone's cramming in there for the air conditioning, and they're all gambling and taking my name in vain."

"Maybe they wouldn't, if you'd help them all out for once instead of bein' so picky all the time," Jack Frost suggested a bit snidely.

Mother Nature shushed him. "Pay no attention to him, Lady Luck, dearie. He's spent far too much time hanging around his father." She gestured at the table. "Pull up a chair, there's one left."

Lady Luck smiled at her and did so. "Dear old Mother Nature. It's lovely to see you again. As usual, you did a superb job on the autumn leaves last year." Mother Nature beamed with appreciation and handed Lady Luck a glass. "Oh, thank you so much. And Nick, what a wonderful surprise to see you here. How's the wife and the elves? I do hope the reindeer aren't still picketing the workshop."

Santa groaned aloud. "My dear, you do have a way of reminding me of all my troubles. They all still want alfalfa in place of hay, and they insist on pure Lapland moss once a day. I wish they'd reconsider…Lapland moss doesn't come cheap." He scowled, surprising Leslie. "If that vain little Dancer would stop egging them on…really, Mr. Roarke, you should hear her, encouraging all the others toward putting on airs so that Lapland moss is the only kind that's good enough for them. She and Vixen…what a demonic team they are!"

"What about Rudolph?" Leslie put in.

Santa's hefty frame shot to attention, making his chair creak in protest. "That red-nosed runt, he's the worst of them all! Mr. Roarke, someday I'll come here and ask you to hold a séance or something to contact the ghost of Gene Autry. Ever since that man heard of Rudy and wrote that accursed song, it's been one perk after another. Special creams for his hooves, and brand-new harnesses, and a blanket to keep him warm while he's leading the team…and his latest demand is car wax for his nose." By now everyone was staring at him in surprised amusement, most of them not hiding it very well; fortunately, Santa was too worked up to notice. "If that little glorified headlight doesn't watch it, he's going to be on the unemployment line and I'll just attach flashlights to Dasher's and Dancer's collars!"

"Now, now, Nick dear, calm down," Lady Luck said soothingly. "Fame's just gone to the little guy's head, that's all. He was simply a little too lucky for his own good. If you want, I'll come back to the North Pole with you and give the lad a good talking-to. I think I've smiled on him long enough anyway." At this Leslie shot Roarke an astounded glance, her eyes bright with the giggles she was holding back; Roarke quirked the most fleeting of smiles and solemnly winked at her, making her grin outright.

"Perhaps you're right," Santa said, visibly reining in his temper and slowly relaxing in his seat. "I do appreciate the gesture, Lady Luck, but I must tell you, I'm thinking of giving in to Cupid's ceaseless begging and letting him do the navigating one of these years."

"Are you kidding? My wings'd never stand up to that kind of abuse!" The words came from a chubby little cherub, perhaps two-thirds the Tooth Fairy's height, flapping feathery little wings to stay afloat and slinging a bow and a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder. "I appreciate the gesture, though…"

"Not you, you little fool, the reindeer," snorted his companion, at whom Leslie gaped in speechless captivation. Some six feet in height, he had thick, gently wavy black hair, vivid blue eyes and flashing white teeth; he had an admirably sculpted body and a perfect tan, and wore only a loincloth. There was a regal look about his impossibly beautiful features. "Nick, seriously, whose idea was it to name that reindeer after my pesky kid brother anyway?" That was when he saw Leslie gawking helplessly at him and gave her a leisurely once-over. "Don't tell me, let me guess. A sea nymph, judging from the blue eyes."

"No, Eros, my daughter, Leslie," Roarke corrected him firmly.

"Then you have excellent taste in daughters, Roarke," Eros said lazily, glancing at Roarke with a dismissive smile and returning his attention to a still-stunned Leslie. "So you like the scenery, do you? You see, Mother Nature, I've still got it."

Mother Nature caught Roarke's exasperated expression and gave him a sympathetic smile before addressing Eros. "No one's disputing that, dear, but the girl's a mortal. Haven't you figured that out yet, from the way she's staring at you?"

Lady Luck, unimpressed with Eros' blinding good looks, pointed her scepter at him, the end with the knob facing him, and tapped the air with it, sending a miniature bolt of lightning arcing at Eros and zapping him in the arm. "Back off, loverboy."

Eros yelped, cradled his arm in the opposite hand and swore at her with great enthusiasm, making her smirk. "Really, woman, must you make your point with such force?" He turned back to Leslie. "What are you doing this evening?"

Roarke cleared his throat loudly enough to hurt, making Leslie snap to guilty attention. Color flooded her face again. "Actually, I'm…well, you see…I've already got…I'm…" She caught herself, cleared her throat and spoke carefully. "I apologize for staring, and I'm afraid I gave you the wrong impression. I'm seeing someone."

Eros stared at her. "Well, that's just my luck."

"Careful," Lady Luck warned him. "I can make it worse."

"Butt out," Eros suggested curtly. "And who's the fortunate man, then?"

"Prince Christian Carl Tobias Enstad of Lilla Jordsö," Santa spoke up. "We all saw his brother's dreadful press conference last summer…"

The Tooth Fairy scowled. "Now there's a guy whose crowns I'd be willing to cough up real money for, just to pay him back for that rotten little stunt he pulled on his poor brother. Geez, Leslie, I wish I'd known you were involved. I'd've come on over and we could've had a nice little bender together."

At that Roarke reached up and deftly removed her glass from her hands. "I believe you have had quite enough."

"_Roarke!"_ the Tooth Fairy squalled indignantly, but her list increased all of a sudden till she was hanging parallel to the ground. "On second thought, never mind."

A deep, gravelly voice guffawed, "Holy molars, you at it again, Toothie?" In strolled the biggest rabbit Leslie had ever seen, easily towering over even Eros and swiping little Cupid aside like an oversized moth. "Hey, ain't that a great pun? 'Holy molars.' I got a million of 'em. Hiya, Roarke, Claus, Luck, Ma, Frost, Cupes, Toothie, Sandy…and you too, playboy. Say, Roarke, if you need some chow to go with all this, I can get a couple buckets of eggs and a whole pallet of chocolate replicas of me."

"No, but thank you anyhow," Roarke said and smiled. "I apologize, but we seem to have run out of chairs."

"No biggie." The Easter Bunny shrugged and clumped over to one of the wrought-iron benches that ringed the patio, lowering himself onto it, slouching and sprawling with both enormous feet resting on their heels and sticking into the air. He produced a gargantuan cigar from somewhere, leaned over and lit it with a taper that stood on the table, and sat back again, puffing. "Ya can't beat a good cigar. Roarke, y'got a six-pack around here?"

"I'm sure we do," Roarke said, completely unperturbed. "Leslie?"

When she got up, the Easter Bunny peered at her. "Ain't you the kid that left me a note for a pot of gold back in '74?"

Leslie shook her head, slightly abashed. "No, that was my sister Kristy. Sorry."

"Oh yeah, little Kristy Hamilton." The Easter Bunny grinned broadly, displaying two enormous yellow buck teeth. "That's right. I still got her note, y'know. I ain't seen no kid yet that's beaten her for sheer gall. Hey, girlie, thanks for the brewskis." Leslie giggled and went into the house, and the Easter Bunny blew a contented smoke ring at the sky.

"You done any more Baby Huey cartoons, pal?" Jack Frost asked, grinning.

The Easter Bunny glared at him. "You still stuck on them Baby Huey jokes? How many times you seen that stupid movie anyway?"

"Baby Huey?" the Sandman said blankly.

The Easter Bunny gave him a long-suffering look and explained sourly, "There was this movie, _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_ My lunkheaded cousin got the title role. Musta been her fault." He stabbed his cigar in Lady Luck's direction. "Anyway, that little manure machine, Baby Huey, was in it, and ever since then all I hear is how much I sound like him, or he sounds like me, take your pick. Everybody's got a lame joke, and soon as they tell it, they all bust a gut like they're freakin' Bob Hope or somethin'. That's why I gotta put on this nicey-nice voice for the kiddies every Easter. I been in trainin' the last coupla weeks, garglin' day 'n' night, makin' like Error the playboy over there with his hook-the-dames voice." He hesitated and eyed Roarke for a moment, while Eros glared at him without effect. "Say, Roarke, you think I could copy your voice for a change this year? You got a good one, and it's not all stuck-up like his."

"Uh, well…you flatter me," Roarke began, caught off guard.

"Oh, give the poor man a break," the Tooth Fairy said, rolling her eyes. "I've told you at least seven hundred times to quit smoking those smelly rolled-up weeds. That's what's killing your voice, you know."

The Easter Bunny aimed his glare at her. "I'll quit smokin' soon as you quit drinkin', howzat?" he offered sarcastically. The Tooth Fairy glared back, but said nothing, having had her bluff called. At this point Leslie returned carrying a half-dozen cans of beer; the Tooth Fairy struggled a little higher into the air, flapped across the table and relieved her of one of them before she could hand them to the Easter Bunny. Roarke rolled his eyes again and let himself relax in his chair, wearing an expression that said _It's no use._

"That's _my_ beer, ya overgrown elf," the Easter Bunny complained.

"Hey, don't worry, there's more where that came from," Leslie assured him and got a big grin for her efforts. She grinned back and retreated to her chair, which Eros vacated after a threatening gesture from Lady Luck with her scepter. "Oh, thanks."

"Anytime, my sweet. Are you quite sure someone else has dibs on you?" Eros asked, leaning over to peer wistfully at her.

"Yup, 'fraid so," said Leslie, smiling apologetically. "Look, don't get me wrong…you have to be the biggest looker I've ever seen." Eros preened, and most of the others rolled their eyes. "It's just that Christian found me first."

"Yeah, well, he almost didn't," Cupid interjected. "I must've used up three quivers of arrows on you, Leslie Hamilton. It's been a long time since I found someone so doggone hard to shoot. I had to borrow a heavy-duty Hot Lovin' Special from my brother here."

"You still haven't given it back!" Eros complained. " 'Borrow', my behind!"

"I'd love to," said the Tooth Fairy, leering at him. "When can I come over?" Eros threw her a dirty look, and she giggled and took a belt from her pilfered beer can.

Just then an ancient crone shuffled onto the terrace from a path that terminated behind the main house, her greedy gaze zeroing in on the Easter Bunny's beer cans. "Exactly what I need," she croaked, her voice cracking. Her clothing, little more than rags, appeared to date from the fifteenth century, and she carried a large, tattered book; her hair was a tangled gray rat's nest, her dusty, battered hat barely hanging on, and her glasses were askew. Both lenses were liberally spiderwebbed with cracks. She looked in general like a refugee from a fifty-year-old shipwreck.

Roarke sat up in shock. "My dear Mother Goose! Where in this world have you been?" he exclaimed.

"You name it, Roarke, I've been there," the old woman told him. "C'mon, you mutant hare, gimme some suds, and make it quick."

"Hey, you old bag, can the wisecracks or you don't get any more chocolate mes," retorted the Easter Bunny, but his tone was good-natured, suggesting they knew each other well and engaged in friendly insults on a regular basis.

Mother Goose directed a halfhearted kick at him and accepted the can he gave her. "At the moment, the idea of more chocolate yous gives me the heaves," she remarked and popped the top, tilting the can back while Leslie hid her giggles behind a hand and Roarke watched with that astounded look still on his face. The others regarded the old lady with curiosity or disbelief.

Mother Nature reached over after a minute and yanked down Mother Goose's arm. "Easy does it, dearie," she cautioned. "How long has it been since you last ate?"

"Four days," Mother Goose replied ominously.

"What happened?" Roarke persisted anxiously.

"These rotten brats!" Mother Goose exploded. "I'm completely out of story ideas, and children's attention span these days is for sh…uh, trash!" She reacted to Roarke's newly shocked look with an exasperated raspberry. "You just don't know what I've been through. For one thing, that darn Aesop gets 'em every time. He's too witty, too much competition. Kids just scoff at Old Jack Horner and Peter the pumpkin eater and Mary with her lamb and all the others. Even Old King Cole doesn't interest them. And with these newfangled video games and MTV, I'm toast."

"Ma Goose is cooked," Jack Frost cackled, to answering groans. Mother Nature hid her face in her hands and shook her head. Mother Goose glared at him and then gave him a solid smack atop the head with the book she held, effectively silencing him. This met with a round of applause; Roarke shook his own head, and Leslie stared on, desperately damming up her laughter.

"_Anyway,"_ Mother Goose went on, with one last black glare at Jack, "I can't even get arrested these days. People just don't want anything to do with me. I think it's time for me to retire, Roarke. Is there space on your lovely little paradise for a washed-up, worn-out old crone like me?"

Roarke nodded quickly. "Of course, of course…but I still don't understand why you look…like that." He gestured futilely at her dust-caked rags, at a loss for words for once.

"I've been run out of every library in the Northern Hemisphere," said Mother Goose. "I've been threatened with the local insane asylum eighty-six times so far, and even the soup kitchens turn up their noses at me. I've had it, Roarke. I just can't take any more rejection."

"You too, huh?" said the Tooth Fairy tiredly. "Join the club, sweetheart."

"Maybe you'd better think about commissioning a retirement community, Roarke," the Sandman suggested. "Look at us. Nobody makes room for us anymore. We all used to perform a service, but we're obsolete. Today's world is rush, rush, rush…two-job families, day care, overstuffed daily schedules, fast food and road rage, extra homework, and structured playdates with pre-chosen friends. There's just no place for us."

"Isn't that the truth," said Cupid with a heavy sigh. "People hook up through want ads these days. That's about as pathetic as it can get, if you ask me."

"I'm so overworked it's ridiculous," Lady Luck put in. "Everybody wants their piece of me, and with six billion people on this poor little dustball, there's not enough of me to go around. The warranty on my scepter expired six decades back, and they don't make the batteries for this model anymore." She examined the instrument sadly.

"Children stop believing in me before they've finished second grade," Santa confessed mournfully. The Easter Bunny bobbed his head in vehement agreement, ears flapping.

"Me too," the Tooth Fairy added. "Plus, I'm going broke buying teeth."

"Nobody takes the art of love seriously," Eros said, looking woebegone. "It's shack up, sleep together, get disillusioned and skip town. Even the physical arts get short shrift."

"Nobody ever pays any attention to my window art, especially Pops," Jack Frost piped up, still rubbing his head where Mother Goose had clocked him. "Which is why I was trying to get a job with you, Ma."

"I don't _have_ a job for you," Mother Nature said, shaking her head. "Nothing your talents could be applied to, at any rate. I have enough to deal with where global warming is concerned, and heaven knows I've thrown enough super-hurricanes and mega-tornadoes at the populace, but they aren't listening. I miss that butter commercial."

"What butter commercial?" several voices asked at once.

"I remember that," Leslie exclaimed. "I can't recall which brand it was, but it was the one that said, _It's not nice to fool Mother Nature."_

"That's exactly the one, thank you, dearie," Mother Nature said with a sad smile at her. "They need to bring that back and really listen to it. But they won't, you know. Let's face it: humans have stopped believing in us."

"Precisely," the Tooth Fairy said with emphasis. "So why even bother? Why believe in them, if they won't return the favor?"

"You got it, man," rumbled the Easter Bunny. "Let 'em all rot."

Santa looked around the group. "I propose we all retire, right here on Fantasy Island, as long as Mr. Roarke here is willing to indulge us."

"You said it," and "I second that," came variously from the rest. Scowls decorated every face, while Roarke and Leslie stared at them in dismay and then at each other. Leslie's expression was pleading, but it sagged into alarm when Roarke—always the one with the answers—merely shook his head helplessly, at an utter loss.

A glum silence stretched out, settling like an invisible fog over the gathering. Leslie looked at each of their guests in turn, trying to catch their eye, but they all caught onto what she hoped to accomplish and studiously avoided her gaze. The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy both belched and mumbled pardons, but otherwise no one made a sound.

From inside there suddenly came a hail. "Leslie, are you home?" Leslie sat up in surprise, then jumped out of her chair.

"Out here, Maureen," she called, peering into the study. "Hi, Myeko."

Maureen and Myeko, each leading her three-year-old daughter by the hand, crossed the study and then stopped dead in the doorway, gaping at the grim-faced group. Most of the attendees were easily recognizable for who they were, and Leslie found herself enjoying their burgeoning stupefaction as cognizance set in. Both were completely speechless.

Then Brianna Harding squealed joyously, "Mommy, look, it's Santa Claus! And the Easter Bunny! And the Tooth Fairy!"

"And some nice old ladies and some funny-looking little guys," said Noelle Tokita, almond eyes almost round with wonder. "And look, that one's almost naked!" She indicated Eros, who actually turned red and slunk behind a bench, which really didn't help.

"And she's so pretty…she looks just like a princess!" Brianna exclaimed, taking in Lady Luck in all her golden glory.

"That nice old lady gots a storybook, Mommy," Noelle cried, spying Mother Goose, who hurriedly deposited her empty beer can on the table. "Oh, please, will you read me a story? I love stories."

Mother Goose stared in amazement at Noelle, then looked at Santa. "This child wants to hear me read to her?"

"Oh, indulge her," Santa suggested gently, his eyes misty. "That's little Noelle Tokita, and today happens to be her third birthday." Myeko's mouth dropped open and her gaze fixed on him. Roarke had been sitting there watching everything, dark eyes warm with approval and amusement. Now he caught his daughter's eye and winked.

Brianna ran to Santa and climbed into his lap, bestowing a kiss on his cheek. "I'm being a real good girl this year, Santa," she said earnestly. "I promise."

"I know, Brianna dear," Santa said, hugging her. "You certainly are…you're being an angel." He noticed Maureen's dumbfounded look and added, "You have no idea how much." Maureen blinked and then stared at Leslie, who smiled and shrugged in reply.

Noelle, unheeding of the grime encrusting Mother Goose, perched on the old lady's knee and looked up, focusing on the Tooth Fairy. "Guess what," she said eagerly. "My big brother Alexander gots a wiggle-tooth right here." She indicated one of her own front teeth. "And Mommy said he could ask for lots of money for it, and he said he's gonna get a whole fifty cents! He's gonna be rich!" Her expression clouded. "I hope you gots enough money for Alexander's tooth."

The Tooth Fairy grinned crookedly. "No problem, kiddo. I think I can swing it."

Myeko suddenly sneezed loudly, prompting half a dozen "bless you's". She rubbed her nose and mumbled, "Uh, thanks…" Her eyes happened to light on Eros at that point and went huge. "Oh…my…God. Leslie Susan Hamilton, where have you been hiding this hunk?"

Leslie gave her a reprimanding look. "Hey, what happened to Clark?"

"Clark who?" said Myeko without ever taking her eyes off Eros. He smiled with a particular gleam in his eye and stepped out from behind the bench, his stride deliberate as he paraded around the table in her direction. Leslie ducked her head and grinned reluctantly, hoping Sheriff Mokuleia wouldn't get wind of this. "What's your name, gorgeous?"

"I am Eros, and you would be…?" Eros prompted suavely.

"Myeko Sensei," she breathed, her gaze repeatedly sweeping up and down his flawless body from head to toe. "Gee, you have the right idea…you're definitely dressed for the weather." Leslie rolled her eyes and Maureen giggled.

"Eros," Roarke spoke up with a warning undercurrent to his tone, "she too is mortal."

"And taken," Leslie put in.

"Shut up, Leslie," Myeko said dreamily.

Eros, brought to a halt by Roarke's words, shot a disgusted glare over his shoulder at him. "Really, Roarke, do you _enjoy_ spoiling my fun?"

Myeko blinked and turned a pleading look on Roarke. "I know it's kind of unorthodox, but I can pay you later, Mr. Roarke, if you'll let me have just one night with this guy. Pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top?"

"You'll rot his teeth," Lady Luck said disdainfully.

"Oh, please," Myeko cajoled, sounding very much like her daughter just then. "For once in my miserable life, Lady Luck could be smiling on me." The words brought that personage up short and she peered sidelong at Myeko with a suspicious look on her face. "Clark and I are on the edge of breaking up, and Toki's making noise about visitation rights, and I feel like a 'Gong Show' reject. I am positively _begging_. I'll even get on my knees." When she actually started to sink to the flagstones, Lady Luck groaned.

"Great Scott, what a soggy sob story. Well, you did ask pretty nicely. You do a good job of groveling, hon. Okay, you can have him," she said with a sigh, giving Roarke a _what're ya gonna do?_ smile.

"Far be it from me to interfere," Roarke said, giving in with good grace.

Myeko brightened and let her gaze feast on Eros again; Eros was studying her with great interest. "So," he asked, "your place or mine? Oh, wait a minute…I'm losing my touch. It's just that it's been so long. Make yourself pretty—I know that will take a bare minimum of effort—" more eye-rolling greeted that— "and I'll wine and dine you at the most elegant restaurant on this island. And then…then we'll have a night you'll never forget."

"My mother can babysit," Myeko decided and grinned. "Man, it feels like it's my birthday instead of my daughter's."

"We're off, then," said Eros.

"Hold it, I'm not quite ready yet," yelled Cupid, hurriedly yanking an arrow from his quiver and trying to get his bow in place. Roarke promptly stood up and snagged him by one wing, the only part of him within reach, dragging him backwards through the air.

"My apologies, but I'm sure you'll understand that it's simply not practicable," he said without any real sympathy. "A mortal woman and your brother? You do realize it breaks all the rules." He smiled.

Cupid eyed him in outrage. "Are you serious? _All_ the rules?"

"Every last one," Roarke assured him. "Admittedly, that would be quite a feat—every rule shattered in one fell swoop. But it's a dubious accomplishment."

Cupid sighed and gave in. "Oh well. This was my last arrow anyway, and I can't afford to waste it. I gotta get back home and order some more. Mind if I come back and do some shooting among your guests, if I promise to leave Eros and his new girlfriend alone?"

Roarke chuckled. "That seems fair." He watched Cupid stuff his lone arrow back into the quiver and shoulder his bow, then flutter higher into the air and vanish among the trees to a chorus of goodbyes.

Mother Goose had finished reading to Noelle by now; and the Sandman, seeing the child's eyes drooping, tiptoed over and scattered a handful of sparkling grains over Noelle's head. A moment later she was asleep; Leslie grinned and gathered her up.

Maureen shook her head, clearly still not sure she was really seeing all this. "Since Myeko's lost her mind over that guy, I'll take Noelle home with me and she can stay overnight with Brianna. If you run into Myeko and Adonis, let her know."

"Eros, not Adonis," Leslie corrected her casually. Maureen gave her an odd look, which was lost on her.

"Whatever. Brianna, come on…we've got to get home before Daddy starts to worry about us." She shifted the sleeping Noelle and started toward the French shutters.

"Just a minute, Mommy, one more." Brianna bestowed one last kiss on Santa's cheek and slid off his lap, trotting to the Easter Bunny. "Will you bring me a big chocolate rabbit for Easter this year?"

The Easter Bunny peered at her. "How big?"

Brianna grinned. "As big as you."

"Whoa!" the Easter Bunny burst out in exaggerated horror and reared back, sending Brianna into a fit of manic giggling. "You'll be eighteen before you finish eating one that big! How 'bout if I just give you a couple little bunnies and some eggs, huh?"

"Okay," Brianna agreed amiably and clambered into his lap for a hug. "Ooooo, you're all nice and cuddly. And y'know what, you sound just like Baby Huey." The Easter Bunny froze as she jumped back down, and Roarke, Leslie and their remaining guests braced themselves—until Brianna turned back and said, "He's my favorite cartoon ever. Well, bye." The Easter Bunny beamed, showing off his huge cigar-stained teeth again, and everyone blew out their breath with relief. Brianna skipped off to join Maureen, who muttered something that might have been a farewell in Leslie's direction and took her leave with noticeable haste.

"Well," said Roarke. "Perhaps there are still a few believers left."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," the Easter Bunny conceded.

Santa smiled, brushing a tear from his eye. "Certainly seems that way. Well, then, Mr. Roarke, I thank you for your generous hospitality…must be getting back." Roarke shook hands with Santa, then with each of the others as they filed out, all of them looking renewed and filled with optimism. The Sandman paused, the last to go.

"I guess that retirement community can wait, Roarke, but don't put the idea in mothballs just yet. This is a perfect place for us to kick back when that day finally comes."

"Indeed," said Roarke, smiling broadly. The Sandman waved at him and Leslie and departed, leaving father and daughter on the terrace amidst a sprinkling of glittering sand flakes, a touch of frost in the air, the slowly fading chime of jingle bells, and one chocolate rabbit leaning against the empty sangria pitcher.

_**THE END**_


End file.
